


Love is Kind and Spiteful and Blind and D.) All of the Above

by acollectionofgravebutbeautifulmistakes



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn, Falsettos - Lapine/Finn (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Charlotte shows up eventually i promise, Cheating, Cordelia is clueless, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Family, Fluff, High School, High School AU, M/M, Mendel is smitten, Mild Smut, Nerdy Marvin, Pretty boy/ rebellious Whizzer, Pride, Slow Burn, Trina is strong and independent, present day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-27 06:57:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21114629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acollectionofgravebutbeautifulmistakes/pseuds/acollectionofgravebutbeautifulmistakes
Summary: MARVIN is struggling in his relationship and trying to figure out what is wrong with him and TRINA who finds out life changing news weeks after meeting a nervous wreck named MENDEL one day during lunch. Both convince themselves they totally don't have a crush on each other whilst MARVIN meets a mysterious boy named WHIZZER who smokes, dresses insanely well and photographs everything he loves as if he's afraid it'll vanish if he doesn't. CHARLOTTE is struggling to keep up with grades whilst simultaneously trying to flirt with her locker neighbor and the girl she tutors named CORDELIA.None of them could predict how junior year was going to turn out, and what would bring them all together.





	1. New Year, Same Shit

**Marvin **

School was one of the few prospects that Marvin found interesting or worthwhile nowadays. Summer was too bland and unstructured for him: there was no repetition, which ended up feeding his anxiety. He much preferred the organization of monotony. His girlfriend often joked that he would end up at a bland desk job one day, which wasn’t a future he was displeased to entertain.

It wasn’t as if he’d necessarily had a _bad_ summer. After all, it was work-free and his last summer in high school before senior year, so he tried to soak it all in while he could. Though he despised the early-June heat and would rather not take his shirt off in front of strangers, he and Trina took a weekend trip to the beach just a few weeks after school had let out. It was their first trip together, and both were surprised that their parents had allowed them to go alone, even if it was only an hour away from where they lived. The waves were calming and he enjoyed reading Steven King novels with his toes in the sand, so it wasn’t all for nothing.

Though, from basically the moment they arrived at the hotel, he and Trina began their usual angry banter. _It’s as if she is never satisfied with what I give her,_ Marvin thought to himself once when she screamed at him and sobbed until she was red in the face. After all, his family were the ones who paid for the trip, and even Marvin’s mother volunteered to go swimsuit shopping with his girlfriend._ And an ungrateful one at that,_ he thought as he walked at a brisk pace out of their verbal wrestling ring which was the hotel lobby, ignoring the stares as he shoved the doors open. Marvin did everything for Trina. Sure, he wasn’t always the most affectionate guy, and even after dating for two painful years they’d yet to have any sexual encounters. But, in Marvin’s mind, it was the thought that counts. He didn’t want to hurt Trina. That was never his intention. Still, telling his girlfriend of two years in the hotel lobby after a fight that maybe he didn’t feel the same way she did anymore wasn’t his smoothest move. Especially not when they both had another day left that they were forced to spend together.

He’d somehow ended up at the boardwalk, pacing along it in frustration. What was Trina doing, anyways? Packing up her stuff? Calling her parents for a ride, barely able to form coherent sentences through her tears? Getting ready to leave Marvin behind forever? It wasn’t fair that he had basically no say in the matter. It was his relationship too, after all.

A tiny voice in the back of his head said that maybe if he went up to their third-story hotel room and apologized, they could at least end this civilly. But his legs wouldn’t move, in fear that the feet attached to them would crush his tiny, prideful self along the way. She had been the one to walk away first, after all. Why should he run back to her? That would admit defeat, that he wasn’t deserving of the title of _Very Headstrong, Emotionally-Detached Boyfriend_ he was given by their mutual friends. Admitting defeat was pitiful, because winning at life meant everything to Marvin, whether that was having the best grades, being the best speaker on the debate team or leaving his girlfriend to weep alone.

But admitting defeat would also imply that the way he felt wasn’t true. That they would remain a “happy” couple for even longer, and Marvin just didn’t know if he could deal with the anxious episodes anymore, or gently placing her in her bed when she texted him **“tOo drubk. pls hel p”** and he found her chugging a second bottle of wine. He wasn’t sure that he could have sex with her either, for fear that she would want to so badly and he would be unable to maintain an erection because, Marvin now realized, she had never caused him to get a boner before.

The exhausted seventeen year old leaned against the boardwalk’s railing, suddenly wishing he had booze, cigarettes, anything to keep his mind off of Trina whom he had hurt so badly without laying a physical finger on. He gazed at the sunset against the glassy ocean, watching intently as a cluster of men and women prepared to surf. At least staring at someone else whom he found attractive could get his mind off of his possible ex-girlfriend. This lasted a few minutes until half of the men had wiped out, and he became simultaneously bored and exhausted. Preparing himself, he walked back up to his hotel room on the third floor.

As he reached for the door handle, a shocked Trina whipped the door open. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, and her mascara had run over her cheeks from old tears, while new ones watered in her eyes. Marvin resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her outbursts, he did feel a slight twinge of guilt. And that’s why, when Trina suggested they take a break, he did whatever would make her happiest and get him into bed fastest.

And so the middle portion of Marvin’s summer was uneventful. He mainly devoured every book that interested him at the public library, drank potential feelings on random strangers away and completed his summer work. This was always his least favorite portion of break: not knowing what to do. Marvin enjoyed keeping himself busy for a majority of his free time, so lounging around the house wasn’t really an option. Upon discussing this discomfort to his parents, his father forced him to shadow him at his desk job at a law firm for a day. The menial tasks of stapling and stamping that his father appointed to him kept him busy, and so often times he would work as a way of passing the time.

Around mid-July, about a month before their senior year was supposed to start, Marvin got a text from Trina.

**[1:17 PM]: Hey Marv. Is it possible for us to meet up somewhere at 3 to talk? Maybe the park with the huge oak tree, idk**

Marvin obliged, curious as to what she wanted and simultaneously bored with the book he was currently reading. At 2:50 he drove to the park, arriving just 10 minutes late to their agreed meeting time. While typically punctual to everything, he secretly wanted to annoy Trina as a form of spite.

“You’re late.” Trina stared at her smartwatch as he walked up the hill to face her under the oak tree. He noticed his sort-of-ex-girlfriend-but-also-on-a-break-girlfriend tapping her right foot and chewing on her left thumbnail. These were annoying nervous tics that Marvin happened to catch onto after dating her for so long. “You’re never late. I figured you’d stood me up.”

Marvin rolled his eyes. Of course she’d make him out to be the bad guy. He felt his hands start to clench, pushing his fingernails into the skin to create crescent-shaped imprints. Once, during one of their fights when Trina had complained over the food he’d bought for dinner, he repeated this motion so much and so aggressively that his palms began to bleed.

He approached her slowly. “Don’t make me out to be this horrible guy when you suggested this break.” The words tasted bitter, almost as if he was physically throwing up bile. The small voice in his head cried to stop, but it was muffled over the heartbeat in his ears. Only a few feet separated them at this point, and he stopped dead in his tracks as he spat venom.

Trina cringed a bit at the tone of his voice, but stepped closer nonetheless. “I was in a bad mental state then, and I’m sorry, Marvin. I think it’s fair to say we both made mistakes that day. But it was two months ago, and I feel differently now. I miss you.” Her voice went quiet, almost silent at the end of this sentence.

Marvin wasn’t sure how he felt. He didn’t feel like a changed man from that night at the beach, but it wasn’t as if he hated Trina either. At this point, he just felt pity for her. While he would normally love arguing why he in fact didn’t miss _her_ very much, something inside of Marvin screamed that this was the right choice, that perhaps she would throw off suspicion for his confusing feelings he’d experienced in the past year. Besides, it had been so long since Marvin had felt any form of romantic touch, and even if it was coming from someone he would rather it not come from, it was better than nothing.

Crossing his arms and looking just past her eyes, at the woods behind them, he spoke in a quiet voice. “I miss you too.” Saying those words was almost impossible, but Marvin managed to choke them out of his throat.

Trina’s face lit up at her ex-boyfriend’s words. “Good… that’s good. So, are we okay?”

Okay? Marvin didn’t know if he’d ever felt okay while he was in a relationship with Trina. He didn’t know if he even felt fine when they hugged or kissed. He didn’t even know if he was okay in general at this point in his life. The whole summer felt off. Yet, his response was automatic and without any passion. “I’m okay if you are Trina.” How could either of them be okay if they were just suddenly thrust into the same relationship that had ripped itself apart months before?

Trina smiled at him, and he felt some sort of spark in his chest, not unfamiliar to how he felt when he spoke to his mother or any other female friend. A love for someone, but not the type he’d desire. She threw herself into his arms suddenly, knocking the wind out of him. He patted her hair and noted how it smelled like flowers and was smoother than he remembered. Had he ever really hugged her like this before?

For the next four weeks, Marvin and his girlfriend were just that: okay. Not great, but not horrible either. They tried being more affectionate than before, and luckily, Trina didn’t notice that Marvin didn’t enjoy it like she did. Or, a week before school started, that he didn’t enjoy their first time having sex. That he didn’t mind being the top, but he wasn’t as attracted to the naked body of his girlfriend of over two years as he should be. But they used a condom and Trina was on birth control, and Marvin was almost positive that it would be a one-time thing. Which it was, as Trina didn’t ask him for sex anytime afterwards.

And suddenly, senior year was starting, and it was the first day of school. So no, Marvin’s summer wasn’t the worst, not particularly awful, just boring and not structured enough for his taste. That was why, upon entering Manchester High School for his fifth and final year, he decided to throw himself into work as a distraction. Four AP classes, debate team, chess team and racquetball after school with a girlfriend to buy gifts to satisfy her wants seemed perfect. But, as Marvin often thought to himself, he wanted it all, and something didn’t feel quite right.

**Whizzer **

Whizzer absolutely despised school. The idea of “common core” standards and rigid schedules often stifled his more creative spirit. Sure, he enjoyed after school activities; photography club and, new to him this year, racquetball team and chess team, but he hated schoolwork. He would much rather be photographing a nude model than studying for a boring chemistry test. While excelling in the arts and being considered a top candidate for prestigious art schools all across the northeast, Whizzer tended to stick to on-level core classes. After all, AP courses often took up students' full schedules unless they were somehow, unbeknownst to Whizzer, somehow spectacularly academically gifted. He needed after school time to focus on the extracurriculars that were going to pay for his college degree, since his dad was unwilling to aid his “fruitless endeavors” in photography, a career he was certain would land Whizzer on the streets.

Whizzer’s favorite after school activity, however, was other guys. Pretty much anyone would do, he only needed the money from them. It was what would feed him his next meal, after all. Many times on the weekend, he would go out with lonely men on dates just for the money and sex, not even staying around to learn their names. But his activities were not limited to outside of school, however. Just under half of the football team had asked him to do “favors” for them, to which Whizzer happily obliged: for a price, of course.

Sure, it had jokingly earned him the nickname of “Manchester High’s Man Hoe,” but money was money after all and it was nothing compared to the multitude of times he’d had his head lovingly shoved into lockers, toilets, dirty gym wear, et cetera. Sometimes, the jocks hadn’t even pay him, just shoved his clothes into a trash can and his naked body into the cold locker room showers. Other times, when he would even look at his “customers” in the halls, they would hit him square in the jaw or give him a massive shiner, laughing with their friends about the school’s biggest fag. Yet they always returned to him, in need of his services, and Whizzer wasn’t one to turn down money.

Whizzer had learned very quickly in life that he wasn’t like other boys his age. He was fascinated with pink and frilly items of clothing, often creating his own outfits out of clothes from his mother’s closet at just nine years old. When his father and mother were downstairs fighting in a drunken rage, ten-year-old Whizzer was creating stories with the army men his father bought for his birthday which the kid painted with pink nail polish. At age eleven, his male classmates wouldn’t stop talking about girls like Becky Mills and Jessica Yang, who were the “early bloomers” in terms of puberty. Meanwhile, Whizzer visited Mia Greene’s house, one of his few friends, and they would paint each other’s nails while listening to One Direction. When Whizzer was twelve, he began pining over boys like Drew Jensen, a star soccer player at their middle school. At age thirteen, he had his first sexual encounter with Alex Fletcher, who later ganged up on Whizzer in the bathroom with his punk friends, yelling slurs at him as he shoved his face in the toilet. Alex was the first person Whizzer had said “I love you” to.

So he dropped the feeling like a hot coal, not just for Alex but in general. Whizzer figured he wasn’t someone meant for long-term love. People came and went too easily, to often to be attached to. At Alex’s demand Whizzer never exposed who gave him his first black eye, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Whizzer shouldn’t have let himself be vulnerable in the first place.

People came and went, but others were permanent, mainly the ones Whizzer hated most. His parents were permanent, at least until he was eighteen. The black eye hadn’t alarmed them one bit when Whizzer returned from school, his mother simply threw a bag of frozen peas at his feet and lovingly remarked, “Stop making trouble for yourself, Whizzer.” His father had a similar response that evening, but rarely did he ever speak his only child’s name, opting to call him “son” instead.

What did alarm Gerald and Martha Brown, however, was when the latter stumbled upon fourteen year old Whizzer giving some kid from his ninth grade biology class a handjob. In her drunken fit she screamed at the poor kid, causing him to yank his pants on and stumble outside as if a rabid dog were after him. Unfortunately, Whizzer couldn’t do the same. His mom yelled and cried, occasionally asking God why she was damned to give birth to such a “fucked up” child. His parents refused to look at him for weeks, and Whizzer locked his door that night, listening as they yelled back and forth, breaking glasses and slamming their fists on counters to avoid swinging at each other. Eventually, the noise was too much, and Whizzer sat on the roof outside his window with huge headphones on, listening to music all night. He didn’t sleep.

Flash forward to senior year, and Whizzer has found himself to be much less of an outcast than he was in middle school/freshman year. Over time, he came to grow into his own skin more, the opinions of outsiders meaningless to him. Loved or hated by the school’s population, he considered himself to be an icon: the one out and proud gay boy for miles in the area. While he was positive there were more, after all he did have plenty of flings in his spare time, none were as confident in themselves as Whizzer was. He brushed off the insults and stares in his direction, simply scoffing and laughing with his best friend, Cordelia.

Cordelia had been through everything with Whizzer since high school started. After meeting in home ec fall semester of their freshman year, the duo were inseparable. Cordelia had a way of understanding Whizzer’s emotions and actions like no one else could. She knew exactly what to do every time his father kicked him out of the house, or when some stuck in the closet loser had spit in Whizzer’s face after they’d had sex. Their friendship, as Whizzer loved to say, transcended typical boundaries. And for the first year and a half, they were a dynamic duo no one dared to split up. That was, until Cordelia introduced Whizzer to Mendel: a nervous wreck of a boy who wore horribly insulting cardigans and glasses so big for his face they’d slip to the bridge of his nose.

Cordelia, while extremely talented in baking, struggled in a lot of academic subjects. And it wasn’t like Whizzer didn’t _want_ to help her, rather that he simply couldn’t because when he wasn’t sleeping in class he was skipping to smoke a cigarette under the football stadium bleachers. So, while she was studying for psychology and becoming frustrated over the parts of the eye, Mendel had taken notice and offered to tutor her. After a few sessions they’d become close friends, and thus she’d decided to introduce him to Whizzer.

Whizzer was slightly concerned by this new addition. Although he’d never admit it out loud, he was awfully afraid of losing Cordelia to someone else. Well, not romantically, since Mendel wasn’t “her type.” But upon meeting him, Whizzer immediately warmed up to Mendel. He was simply a disheveled boy who ran solely on coffee and the promise of hanging out with some girl from the debate team he was enamored with. So the three quickly became a trio, studying or simply hanging out at Cordelia’s to smoke while her parents were on one of their many business trips.

The same trio walked up to the doors of their high school on the first day of senior year, sensing the grogginess and resentment their fellow classmates held toward the upcoming months. Before heading to such a hellhole, Whizzer had spent a good portion of an hour perfecting the silky swoop of his hair, almost making the three late to school since they carpooled together. Finally, he’d settled with his hair and button down outfit, greeting Cordelia and Mendel as he climbed into the passenger seat of Cordelia’s Honda Civic.

“So, guys, first day of senior year, huh?” Cordelia’s smile beamed as bright as her blonde hair and white dress. “It’s all very exciting. I can’t believe we’re the big dogs now!”

Whizzer placed his feet on the dash, unrolling his window while he popped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it. The nicotine buzzed through his veins, still better than any espresso he’d ever had. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just trying to get through it. Another year of this shit makes me feel like choking on one of these.” He took the cigarette in his fingers and held it up to Cordelia’s nose, who coughed dramatically.

“Ugh, Whizz!” Cordelia’s face scrunched up while Whizzer put the cigarette back between his lips with a smirk. “I can’t believe you still smoke that shit. At least Mendel has the decency to just use a vape for his fix.”

Mendel, who Whizzer had temporarily forgotten about, groaned from the backseat. He held a tumbler of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. “I hate that I need it to control these nerves. And the coffee too! It makes me feel like a maniac, but damn does it taste good” He took another swig before putting it in the cupholder and dropping his phone onto the seat dramatically. Whizzer smelled the coffee on Mendel’s breath as he leaned forward between the duo in the front.

Whizzer cringed and puffed smoke out the window. “God, Mendel your breath smells like ass. Can you at _least_ invest in some gum? It’s too damn early for this.”

Mendel tensed and shuffled through his bag. “You’re right! God she’ll never want to be around me when I smell like this…”

“She won't-” Whizzer gave Cordelia a death glare before she could speak another word. The last thing Whizzer wanted to hear about was some girl Mendel sadly never had a chance with at eight AM. It was all he’d spoken about for the summer since he’d had AP Calculus with her last semester. Apparently, he and this girl had hung out a lot over the summer after she and her boyfriend went on a break. Mendel said that they had chemistry, not the class Whizzer, you asshole, and he’d never felt so strongly for anyone before, but he couldn’t say anything because she was so hung up over her boyfriend. Everything seemed to be fine until Mendel called Cordelia and Whizzer the previous month on facetime crying because she and her boyfriend had gotten back together. To Whizzer, at least, the guy seemed like an asshole. He’d never met either him or the girlfriend, but Mendel claimed her to be the nicest person he’d ever met, which did hurt Whizzer’s pride a bit, and that her boyfriend constantly stomped on her emotions like she was a cockroach. And since Whizzer trusted Mendel, he was inclined to hate this guy he’d never met.

After shuffling through his backpack like a maniac, Mendel began to panic that he had no mints or gum in his backpack because he “always wanted to be at his best when he was around her.” So, Cordelia took a quick pit stop to the gas station where Mendel bought 5gum and Whizzer invested in another pack of cigarettes he decided he’d open during a “bathroom break” in third period.

So the three of them found themselves finally at the doors of their high school, ready to face the last year of their highschool careers. Cordelia smiled at Whizzer and Mendel, wishing them luck on their first day of school as the most nervous of the trio chewed his gum ferociously.

“I can’t wait to be out of this fucking hellhole,” Whizzer exclaimed, groaning as he entered the front door.


	2. Lunchbox Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marvin is introduced to Cordelia. Whizzer needs to find a new HQ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!! Thank you for the reactions to the previous chapter!! You are all too kind :)
> 
> Just so you know, I am a college student with some mental illness stuff going on, so it's hard to create a regular writing schedule. I will try my best though!
> 
> Title name is the name of one of Melanie Martinez's songs from her new album! Praise the queen 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> -Isabella

**Marvin**

Academics had always been Marvin’s strong suit. He wasn’t athletically inclined, he gave up playing the trombone after middle school, and if you asked him to draw something, he’d come back with a stick figure. Creativity wasn’t something that came easy to him. The idea of thoughts flowing freely from someone's brain onto paper or through a musical piece was foreign to him; from a young age he’d been taught by his father that theatre and music and art were activities for girls and those without actual aspirations in life. He’d thrown around the word “Queer” as a jarring insult once when Marvin’s mother insisted on going to a nearby production of Mary Poppins when Marvin was seven. There were numerous long-legged boys in the ensemble dancing and smiling and fearlessly expressing themselves. A boy around Marvin’s age played Michael Banks, and whilst Marvin was intrigued by his expert performance and singing, his father leaned over and said, “Boy’s a fairy. You ever even _ think _about doing that shit and you’ll be no son of mine.” Needless to say, the Feldmans never went to another musical after that.

With his parents’ strict rule of no theatre or arts besides band and Marvin’s distaste towards sports, he spent the rest of elementary school forced into the school’s chess club. During the morning of the school day after which he’d go to his first club meeting, he’d faked sick to see the nurse and called his mother at work. Flinching at her biting words for calling her during such an important meeting, seven year old Marvin broke down in a mess of tears. He pleaded for her to pick him up, that he didn’t know anyone in chess club, that he didn’t even know how to play and he was afraid of being picked on again. She angrily told him no and confirmed with his teacher that he would be forced to go. 

Chess club ended up being much more exhilarating than he first thought. Though entirely nervous at first, once the club leader taught them the basics of chess, Marvin wanted nothing more than the satisfaction of winning a game, to finally be great at something. He wanted his parents to be proud of him.

Needless to say, he was horrible at chess at the beginning.

Far too nervous to think about planning his moves, some kid named Ethan kept kicking his ass at the hobby. Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, Marvin would march into the classroom, determined to win one game, and feeling miserable and mad when he lost. The club leader tried teaching him tricks, but, despite Marvin’s drive to win, to prove himself, he still couldn’t manage it.

One day, Marvin walked into chess club, angry and determined. His teacher had scolded him earlier in the day for pushing Ethan when he wouldn’t stop pestering Marvin. The kid had such a huge ego, snickering and telling his friends all about how Marvin would always lose to him in chess. A new wave of anger that Marvin hadn’t known how to deal with, since he was only seven, consumed his every move. When he and Ethan sat down to play, the latter scoffed. “I don’t even know why I bother,” he loudly proclaimed. “I always beat Marvin anyways.”

Something snapped inside of Marvin, and he forcefully set up the game board, challenging Ethan. If he wanted a challenge, Marvin would give it to him. He angrily moved every piece, and Ethan, while first playing cool and seemingly unaffected by Marvin’s anger, gradually grew to look fearful. 

“Checkmate.” Marvin looked Ethan dead in the eyes, a smirk appearing on his lips.

Ethan’s mouth hung open, and Marvin felt… pride. And he always wanted to feel this way.

*** * ***

Marvin sat at a picnic table outside of school, bringing out his lunch and picking at a ziplock bag that held food he wasn’t hungry for. His fingers itched for a game. To play chess with someone. To win, and gloat. He wanted the adrenaline, no matter how quickly it faded afterwards. But it was only Monday, and chess club wasn’t until Wednesday, so he’d have to wait.

Too occupied by his thoughts, Marvin barely noticed Charlotte sit across from him. “Earth to Marvin? Hello?”

Marvin’s gaze snapped up, looking at his friend. Her brows were knitted together, examining him. She tended to be good at reading situations and people, and even though Marvin hadn’t known her longer than a year, she was good at giving him helpful advice.

“Hey Charlotte. How’d chemistry and anatomy go?” Marvin finally decided to eat something. Only a few carrots, but still something.

Charlotte unpacked her lunchbox with a loud groan. “Horrible. I mean, yes, I want to be a doctor but Jesus, maybe I should’ve just waited until college instead of putting up with this AP bullshit.” Rolling her eyes, Marvin's friend took a bite of her sandwich. She spoke to him with a mouth full of food, although courteous enough to cover it with her hand. “Met this cute girl today. She has the locker next to me.”

“Who even uses lockers anymore? That was such a middle school thing.”

Charlotte swallows, narrowing her eyes at her friend. “Girls who have numerous heavy-ass textbooks to carry around, that’s who. Anyways, she’s cute, like I said. Very sweet too. I invited her to sit with us today, since she has this lunch period and said she wanted to ‘get to know each other more.’” The wonderfully out and proud lesbian across from Marvin winked, a coy expression on her face.

Marvin let out a short laugh. “Sounds like she’s interested.”

“Hope so. Say, where’s Trina? She should be here by now.”

At only the sound of her name, Marvin cringed, any scrap of an appetite he once had melting away and manifesting itself into a weird, sinking feeling in his stomach. It wasn’t as if Marvin didn’t want to see her, Trina was delightful and sweet and doting, after all. But the thought of her presence alone made Marvin want to throw up. After their disastrous vacation, semi-breakup and strange sexual experience, he continuously felt uncomfortable around her.

“She has the next lunch,” Marvin states, and after he remembers the fact, the sinking feeling dissolves a bit. 

Charlotte nodded, remembering. “Ah, I forgot she told me that. I hope she finds someone to sit with.”

Just as their conversation lulled, a perky blonde suddenly appeared out of seemingly nowhere. She skipped towards their table, curls bouncing at her shoulders, a lunch tray in her hands. She wore a colorful crop top and high-waisted jeans, which suddenly made Marvin self conscious for his obvious lack of style. By the way this girl smiled and waved at Charlotte and Marvin’s friend returned the favor, he could tell that this was locker girl. 

Marvin could acknowledge that the girl was pretty cute, she had a beaming smile with brilliantly white teeth and her eyes held a sort of childlike innocence and glee in them. He quickly wondered if staring at another girl like this was almost like betraying Trina, but he felt some sort of weird disconnect from locker girl, just like he felt when his girlfriend kissed him. Sure, he could admire, Marvin did have eyes after all. Girls like Trina were beautiful: Marvin was constantly reminded of how lucky he was for scoring someone who looked like her, which he tended to take as an insult to his looks. But there was something about pretty girls, kind girls and even smart girls that didn’t satisfy him. The thought of holding hands, kissing or having sex with any girl, not just Trina, Marvin felt… uncomfortable. Maybe that was just part of growing up though. Perhaps, he thought silently to himself, that’s a normal feeling.

Locker Girl plopped down on the bench next to Charlotte, dropping her GMO infested lunch tray in front of her and immediately attacking a french fry. “What’s goin’ on?” 

Marvin noticed Charlotte’s heart eyes and how oblivious to it her locker buddy was and knew that he had to make sure these two got together. “Uh, hi… um…”

“Cordelia.” The blonde said, her voice muffled by food. 

“Cordelia. Nice to meet you. I’m Marvin.” 

Charlotte seemed to snap out of her pining daze to look at Marvin with apologetic eyes. “Sorry I forgot to introduce you guys. Cordelia is my locker neighbor and chemistry partner.” Cordelia grinned with teeth so white she could blind the entire school’s population. She turned to Charlotte and playfully nudged her. 

“Charlotte is so smart. Science is by _ far _my worst subject, and she managed to help me understand today’s lesson in only twenty minutes! When my other friends teach me, it’ll typically take an hour.” 

Marvin raised an eyebrow at the newest member of their small group. “Do your friends have this lunch? Why sit with us?” He noticed Charlotte giving him the stink eye and quickly clarified. “I mean it’s not like you can’t sit here or anything, I was just curious.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes, still somehow smiling. Marvin wondered if her face ever got a break from its seemingly permanent grin. “Oh, well one spends all his time in the library and has the next lunch. As for the other… well he’s not really the type to sit around and eat in the open or anything.” She shrugged. “He’s just weird like that.”

Marvin nodded, listening to her describe her companions, and his hunger suddenly returned with a vengeance. The growl which emerged from it was so loud, it was almost like his stomach was begging him to finally eat more today. “Ugh, I’m hungry but I have almost no appetite. Is that weird?”

Charlotte, taking a moment to stop ogling the girl next to her, turned to Marvin with a familiar _ “I’m not your mom but you’d better take care of yourself or else” _expression on her face. “Marvin, you need food in your system.”

Cordelia gasped. “I have just the thing!” She pulled a red tupperware container out of her backpack, eagerly placing it in front of Marvin after she pushed his pitiful lunch aside. “Made these last night, I figured something like this might happen.”

Upon examining the container and cautiously taking the lid off, Marvin discovered very spring rolls full of different vegetables. He took one out of the container and slowly bit into it, realizing that Cordelia was watching him with a hopeful expression on her face.

Marvin was pleasantly surprised. “These are really good, and not too filling either. Thank you, Cordelia.” He glanced down at her lunch tray to see the school’s horrible cafeteria food. _ Chicken fingers, _ he thought, _ are not supposed to look like that. _“Say, why don’t you eat your own food for lunch?”

As Charlotte grabbed a spring roll for herself and bit into it, Cordelia explained. “Oh I would much rather give it to people who can’t afford a lunch or, in your case, don’t enjoy their lunch. Besides, my parents put a lot of money on my lunch account and, as concerning as some of the food looks, I’m not gonna waste it.”

Marvin nodded, looking at Charlotte as she ate. “Wow! You’ll have to help me cook sometime, since the only things I can make are peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and spaghetti.”

Cordelia lit up at the idea, nodding her head. “Yes, of course! Maybe this Sunday?”

“It’s a date.” Charlotte, said, pausing to rethink her phrasing as she blushed furiously, apparently unaware that Cordelia was doing the same thing. Marvin sighed, rolling his eyes as he opted to read his copy of _ Moby-Dick _ for the rest of their lunch period as his friends casually and unknowingly flirted with each other.

**Whizzer**

Under the bleachers, Whizzer took a drag of his cigarette whilst he waited for his next client to arrive. Sighing, he looked at the time on his watch: **12:48**. Fantastic, the prick was almost an hour late. He stood up from the picnic blanket he’d been sitting on instead opting to pace around the small, disclosed area. 

It was known lovingly as the _ “fuck spot” _ which, in Whizzer’s opinion, was just crude and elementary. Yes, couples came here to have sex and even others had messy one-night-stands from time to time, but this, in a sense served as Whizzer’s office. Clients came in, got what they needed from him, paid, and left. There was no “funny business” here; it was Whizzer’s only way of supporting himself. He didn’t quite consider it prostitution because, to be frank, he felt he was at least a little _ classier _than that.

Eyeing the area, he spotted a multitude of used condoms and empty beer bottles laying around in the leaves. Maybe not too classy. He made a mental note to find a better area to conduct his business.

Sighing, Whizzer smoked more. Nicotine addictions certainly weren’t cute, but it did help with his nerves quite a bit. Time after time, his doctor told him that _ “Smoking that shit will kill you, you know that? Why don’t you try medication or therapy for your anxiety?” _ And every time, Whizzer would laugh as the doctor stared at him, disappointed. _ “What I’m doing now works fine. With any luck, it’ll kill me faster so I don’t have to hear that spiel again.” _

It wasn’t as if Whizzer hadn’t ever been to therapy. No, after an incident over one Christmas break he was brought to a psychiatrist who prescribed him zoloft. After that showed no effects, they tried prozac, eventually ending on lexapro, during which he tried killing himself. He stopped taking the meds, to say the least, and his parents tried counselor after counselor, each one claiming that his case was severe, that maybe they should bring him to a hospital. They denied, because the money had run out, and so had their patience.

And when it was discovered that Whizzer wasn’t like other boys his age, never had crushes on pretty girls and didn’t play sports, he was sent to therapy again. Not quite conversion therapy, thank goodness, but his mother was a devout Catholic, and one of the members of the church was a counselor. She’d agreed to help Whizzer for no price, as she claimed it was _ “God’s mission to help her fix this child.” _ After a fourteen-year-old Whizzer told her, following numerous sessions, that _ “A crusty old bitch like you couldn't make me hate dick if you tried” _, she gave up.

Tossing the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with his boot, he checked his clock again: **1:08. **His one hour grace period was up, and Whizzer groaned. Not only had this no-show cost him his entire lunch break, but now he’d be late to photography class. Exiting the area under the bleachers, Whizzer shoved his earbuds in his ears and blasted music as he walked across campus to class.

*** * ***

Photography, Whizzer quickly decided, was the only class he wouldn’t skip. Unlike his other classes, this was a subject that would most certainly help him with jobs later in college. Every other class he took: American Lit, Physics, Calculus, none of them would do anything for his future career. 

Sure, his current class was full of kids who only wanted the credit for their transcript, but Whizzer could get over that. The teacher seemed nice enough, if not a bit unusually perky. She went over the syllabus for almost the entirety of class before informing them of the first assignment: bring any cameras you own to class tomorrow.Whizzer scoffed as he got up at the sound of the bell, knowing that kids would simply bring their phones to class, claiming it could take better pictures than some other camera.

It wasn’t as if Whizzer didn’t already know everything there was to know about photography that would be in this intro course. He’d been researching the topic for years ever since his grandmother passed away when he was six. He’d been forced to help his parents search through her belongings for anything worth keeping. Sobbing over the death of the only adult who’d seemed to care for him, Whizzer complied. Under boxes of old newspapers, knitted blankets and sweaters, he found it. In a small tin box, his grandmother’s life story unfolded. Old photographs of her as a child during World War II, after American soldiers rescued her from a concentration camp, a clearly visible inked number on her arm. Slightly older photos of her as a teenager, laughing at a diner, or a roller skating rink. A polaroid of her and Whizzer’s grandfather from Valentine’s day, and one of them in wedding attire, her husband holding her in his arms titled _ Honeymoon Here We Come! _Upon seeing images of her holding Whizzer’s father as a baby, he felt his throat tighten with an emotion he couldn’t quite describe.

Then, in the bottom of the tin, another photo, this one more recent. Whizzer recognized his two-year-old self waddling around in his grandmother’s living room on fat, stumpy toddler legs. He wore a pink tutu that she’d bought him, and he was smiling at the camera. In small letters on the back of the photograph, it read: _ Whizzer, two years old already! I got him for myself this weekend, and he wanted to “play dress-up like mommy.” What a wonderful handful he is turning out to be. Better not let Gerald see this one. XOXO _

Tears welled up in Whizzer’s eyes as he gently placed the photographs in the tin and shoved it into his school bag for safekeeping. It was his, he had found it, after all. 

“Whizzer, let’s go. You have school tomorrow.” His mother’s voice echoed from the room next door. But as he turned to leave, he spotted a small box near where he’d found the tin. On it, in familiar cursive, his name. 

_ For Whizzer. _

Quickly dropping to his knees, he carefully tore the tape off of the box, reaching in to find an old camera that read _ Nikon _with a well-loved brown leather strap attached. Slowly, he touched the sides of it, the lens, and held the viewfinder to his left eye. It was cold against his skin, making him shiver. After placing it gingerly into his backpack in his hoodie so it wouldn’t be damaged, he looked once again inside the box. A note was there, on an old, yellow-brown piece of paper.

_ Whizzer, _

_ If you’re reading this, you’re either old enough, or I’ve grown old enough. Either way, I want you to have this. If there’s anything I must give you, it is a tool that will capture life in a way no words ever could. Images are so important, honey. Photography is a magnificent skill to master. There are some pictures that are indescribable, and we must view to understand. _

_ Your father can be a cruel man, I know that. He went through a lot growing up, and so did I. Maybe one day he can open up to you about it. But until then, your parents love you, I promise. And I love you too. _

_ You’re special, Whizzer. There’s something within you so beautiful, so magnificently bright, and you need to explore the world and your talents to show it. You may not feel like other kids get it. But don’t let that stop you from anything. You can and will power through life, after all, there is a lot that I powered through. Too many dark stories for a child of your current age. Maybe, one day, your father will tell you about those stories too. _

_ But stories aren’t just words, like I said. There are events in your life too horrible or overwhelmingly wonderful that you cannot explain through writing. And, as they say, a picture says a thousand words. _

_ Explore yourself, Whizzer. Live a little, for me. Do things I couldn’t do, and love others with your whole, sparkling self. Don’t live a life of “what if’s,” live one of “I’d do that again and again and again.” _

_ I love you. _

_ Grandma _

Tears streamed down Whizzer’s cheeks as he continued to stare at the note, even after he finished reading it. He didn’t know what she meant by a lot of the contents of the letter, but he was certain that he would eventually find out. Carefully, he tucked the note in with the camera before deciding to grab the tin of photos for hopeful future inspiration.

“Whizzer, now! We do not have all day for you to look around aimlessly!” His father’s voice boomed through the house, startling Whizzer into swinging his backpack on and running out of the room. 

  



End file.
